Chapter 18: Domestic Refuge and Growing Suspicions
It was almost twelve o'clock on that Thursday morning, and the sun was already strong. Joey entered the house feeling the cold sweat on his back, his heart still racing from the encounter with Léo. His need for security sent him fleeing.
He took refuge directly in his room, the only place where he felt minimally safe from the overwhelming feeling of having been almost discovered, his secret actions nearly exposed.
His mother, Clara, who was in the living room folding clothes, noticed her son's hurried passage and pallor.
"Joey? Are you alright, dear?" she asked, concern in her voice.
"Everything's... everything's fine, Mom. Just... a little tired from the walk," he managed to say, his voice betraying a tremor he hoped she wouldn't notice. He preferred people not to know his true feelings, especially when they were this chaotic. He quickly closed his bedroom door, leaning against it for a moment.
Clara frowned. Joey's behavior had been more erratic in recent days. She exchanged a look with Léo, who had just come in and was devouring pancakes in the kitchen.
"Your brother is acting strangely, don't you think?" Clara commented in a low voice to Léo. "He went out early, came back pale as a ghost."
Léo shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Oh, Mom, Joey's just like that. But I found him near the central library. He said he was looking for a 'shortcut to nowhere.' Pretty weird."
He decided not to mention his suspicion about the "elf" for now. He didn't want to worry his mother unnecessarily, but his investigative mind was already at work.
In the alley beside the library, after the brothers had left, Lyra remained hidden in the abandoned cinema for a long time. The fear of being discovered was intense.
However, the need to check the place where the young human had been the night before propelled her. With extreme caution, she crept to the gap near the boarded-up window.
And there they were: two colorful cereal bars, identical to the one he had given her.
A lump formed in Lyra's throat. It was him. The same scared, but kind human. He had returned. He had cared.
In her world, disinterested acts of kindness were rare outside her innermost circle. This meant more than just food; it was a beacon of hope amidst her despair. She picked up the bars, her heart warmed by an emotion she hadn't felt since she was torn from her home.
Kael, still at his observation post, registered Lyra's discovery. Joey's persistence in helping, even anonymously and clearly uncomfortably for him, was a factor Kael hadn't anticipated. Humans were generally more prone to fear or exploitation of the unknown. Joey was an anomaly within the anomaly.
Kael decided he needed to better understand the young man's motivations.
Meanwhile, Pip, having identified the possible energy source, began planning her incursion into the industrial area. It would be dangerous. She was small, but her clothes and equipment, even with the partially functional camouflage device, would attract attention if she were seen. She would need to act under the cover of night.
Zylar, in his cell, attentively observed his captors' routine, noting the communication devices they used, the electronic locks, the surveillance system. His brilliant engineering mind began to formulate an audacious plan, based on the vulnerabilities he perceived in his captors' "primitive," yet ubiquitous, technology.
Joey, in his room, tried to calm himself, his tendency to worry replaying the encounter with Léo. The image of his brother discovering him haunted him. He felt like an outsider even within his own family, guarding secrets they couldn't begin to imagine.
But beneath the fear, which was a constant companion, there was also the memory of the relief he'd felt knowing Pip had retrieved her belongings, and the small, fragile hope that Lyra would find his new food. These successful acts of helping the oppressed brought a quiet, internal satisfaction.
His dream of a world without wars or evil, a world of understanding, seemed to be manifesting in small and terrifying ways in his own life. It was a reflective thought that often consumed him.
He didn't know which way to turn, a common state for him when faced with too many decisions or uncertainties, but the inertia that had held him captive for so long, the heavy weight of his depression, was slowly beginning to yield to a new and unknown current, a flicker of purpose in his usually aimless existence.
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